


Full Circle

by werewolfsaz



Series: Fishnets, Piercings And Tattoos [4]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: First Time, Goth!John, Homophobia, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Minor Violence, shy!Sherlock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-22
Updated: 2013-05-22
Packaged: 2017-12-12 08:35:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,390
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/809521
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/werewolfsaz/pseuds/werewolfsaz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Spitting blood on the ground, he smirked up at his attackers. Even though his right eye was rapidly swelling and he hurt all over, he managed to laugh at them.<br/>"Is that supposed to make me see the error of my ways? To make me dump him? Are you really so stupid?"</p>
            </blockquote>





	Full Circle

**Author's Note:**

> Hello again all, sorry it's been a while. Damn real life keeps getting in the way. But here we go :)  
> Comments are always loved so please leave some  
> Enjoy

John swung around the end of his road, humming along to his music, excited. He was looking forward to spending the weekend with Sherlock. His parents were away and Mycroft was off on one of his many mysterious jaunts, so they had the whole house to themselves. He grinned as he walked, thinking about exactly how they would be spending those few days.

He slowed slightly when he spotted one of the lads from school sitting on the low park wall. Something wasn't right here. He knew that boy, Charlie Hanson, always hanging around with the footy team. He was best mates with Anderson. As if the thought had conjured him, the rat faced teen stepped out from behind a tree, grinning nastily. Four more teens appeared from various hiding places, standing shoulder to shoulder, facing John. A ball of ice formed in the blonde teen's stomach. This wasn't going to be fun.

"Alright lads," he greeted warily, still hoping to avoid any unpleasantness. "Having a good weekend so far?"  
Anderson stepped forward, glaring, top lip curled in an angry snarl. The two teeth John had knocked out a few weeks before were now replaced by caps, glaringly white against his own yellowed teeth. John couldn't help smirking at the ridiculous sight but, judging by the way Anderson's expression darkened even more, that was the wrong move.

"You and that other freak have been causing quite a stir," another boy stated. John flicked his gaze to him, recognizing the captain of the team, Jim Moriarty.  
"Oh?" was his cold reply.  
"Walking around, holding hands, kissing, acting like it's normal. It's disgusting." Jim and Anderson shared a look of contempt before turning back to John. John dropped his hands to his sides, rolling his shoulders slightly to loosen them. This was about to get ugly.

"So we've decided to show you the error of your ways," Anderson explained, rubbing his hands together. The other football players began closing in, surrounding John, each one with a look of disgust and hatred on his face.  
"Once we're done with you, your boyfriend won't ever even want to look at you again never mind anything else," Jim snarled, raising his fist. John drew an image of Sherlock into his mind and concentrated on that as the blows began.

Sharp knuckles slammed into his body, digging into his ribs, arms, stomach and face. He felt the ring in his nose twist, tearing his nostril and he cried out. Lashing out with his own hands, he struck at his attackers but they soon overwhelmed him, driving him to the ground with punishing blows. He felt the toes of trainers striking his spine, shoulders and buttocks as he curled into a ball, clinging to the thought of Sherlock like a life line. 

The attack seemed to last for hours but it was probably only a few minutes until Jim called his jackals off. They stood back, breathing hard as they examined their handiwork. John pushed himself painfully into a sitting position, wiping his hand over his face. Spitting blood on the ground, he smirked up at his attackers. Even though his right eye was rapidly swelling and he hurt all over, he managed to laugh at them.  
"Is that supposed to make me see the error of my ways? To make me dump him? Are you really so stupid?"

They all looked at him, surprised as he hauled himself to his feet.  
"All you have done is reinforce my belief that I'm happy the way I am and who I'm with. You call us freaks, faggots, disgusting and unnatural. I say we are happy, free, loved and, above all, honest with ourselves. So if you think this will change anything, you couldn't be more wrong. I will continue to be with Sherlock and, if he doesn't want me, I'll find someone else. But people like you will never change me, no matter how much you beat me and insult me and abuse me."

He lifted his chin, looking at each of them in turn, staring straight into their eyes. One after the other, the teens looked away, unable to meet John's proud, honest gaze. The sound of quick feet made them turn, to find Sherlock running through the park with Greg and Mycroft in tow. His ever changing eyes were huge with panic when he saw John, battered, bruised and bleeding, surrounded by the same group of teens that had beaten him up a while back.

Quickly, silently, the six boys turned and disappeared out of sight. Jim paused briefly to shoot Sherlock and John a hateful look.  
"This isn't over," he spat then vanished.  
"Thank fuck for that," John sighed, slumping in Sherlock's arms. "I hate to be a bother but could we go to yours? I'm knackered."

*****  
John sat in the small bathroom next to Sherlock's room, staring mournfully at his ruined vampire tee shirt.  
"My sister is going to kill me. That was a present," he huffed. Sherlock still refused to look at him, to say anything other than the occasional command. He had tended John's cuts tenderly, dabbing them with antiseptic and bandaging them as best he could. He had eased the lip rings out, wiping He had found a packet of frozen peas to put on the impressive shiner John had coming up so now the blonde was sat on the closed toilet lid, following Sherlock's lithe body with his eyes.

"What's wrong?" he asked softly, noticing the slight tremors running through the taller teen. Reaching out with his free hand, he grabbed Sherlock's wrist, stopping him. "'Lock, talk to me."  
Sherlock lifted his eyes to John's battered face and felt the same sick sensation he had when he had seen him in the park. That face, strong, proud, sweet, expressive face was so different now. He was a loud, screaming testament to the way society saw them and Sherlock felt so guilty.

"This is my fault," he stammered. "They did this because of me...Because of us. Because of our choices..."  
"They did this because they are stupid, ignorant, bigoted bastards," John snapped, standing up to grab Sherlock's arms. "If it hadn't been me it would have been another gay man or woman, someone else they hated for no other reason than because they're narrow minded."

Their eyes met, holding for long seconds before John looked away, suddenly unsure.  
"If this is your way of saying you don't want us to carry on... Then..." His heart twisted in his chest, stomach rolling. This hurt more than the beating.  
"No!" Sherlock practically shouted, hands gripping John tightly. "I want this, you and me and everything we could be if we keep going. I just..." He bit his lip, not really sure how to put his worries into words. "Oh, fuck it."

He lurched forward, lips crashing into John's, pressing hard against the tender, swollen skin. The blonde staggered back, crashing into the cold tiles as Sherlock devoured him. He grunted, pained, as the dark haired boy kissed him harder still, hands grasping at his hips. He tried to slow it down, to say something but clearly Sherlock wasn't in the mood. He was, however, in the mood to strip John completely and kiss every wound.

"Sher...Sherlock," John panted, trying to do the right thing even as his body screamed for more. More kisses, more touches, more Sherlock.  
"I want this," he groaned. "I want you, John. That's what this weekend was supposed to be about, us, moving things along to the next level."  
"But...Greg...Mycroft..."John's protests were growing weaker as Sherlock worked over his face, down his throat, across his chest with fluttering, burning kisses.

"I'm sure they're entertaining themselves," Sherlock smiled. He dropped his eyes to the very obvious bulge in John's boxers, suddenly nervous and shy. He rubbed his hand over it, marveling at the heat, the length and width. John shuddered at Sherlock's tentative touches, biting his lip as he felt his boxers slipped down and away. He heard Sherlock's gasp and glanced down, smiling at the surprised look on the dark haired teen's face.

"There's always something, somewhere," John chuckled, shifting slightly so his exposed cock bounced, the stud at the tip catching the light sharply. Reaching out a tentative finger, Sherlock brushed it over the warm metal, beaming delightedly at the groan that pulled from John. The first touch of bare skin to bare skin sent electricity through them both. Then John grabbed Sherlock, yanking him to his feet and kissing him roughly. His lips stung, he tasted blood and didn't care. Pushing the taller boy gently, they staggered towards the bedroom.

John fought with Sherlock's shirt buttons, ripping a few in his haste, fingers scrambling at his zipper. He wanted his new lover to be as naked as he was, to touch and kiss and taste every part of his alabaster skin. Pushing the lanky teen down on the bed, John crawled over him, kissing up his long, creamy thighs, over sharp hips bones, taut stomach and narrow chest. Lowering himself slightly, pressing against the toned body below him, John felt Sherlock's breath shudder out of him as they slid easily together.

Not wanting to spook Sherlock or pressure him in anyway, John caught his gaze, smiling softly.  
"Anytime it gets too much, we can stop, ok? I want you to be completely..."  
Sherlock placed his hand over John's mouth, shaking his head.  
"I want this. I'm ready."  
John groaned, swooping down to kiss the taller teen deeply. He rolled his hips, the fire of lust shooting through him as their erections brushed and rubbed.

He so wanted to be gentle and slow, to ease Sherlock into this new aspect of their relationship but.... Seeing Sherlock like this, curls fanned around his head like a midnight halo, eyes huge, dark and deep, face, neck and chest flushed with arousal was too much. Sliding back and down, John ran his tongue up his boyfriend's long shaft, pressing with his tongue stud, teasing before he opened wide and swallowed Sherlock down. Sherlock yelped, hands clenching in the sheets as he fought the urge to thrust up into the warm, wetness of John's mouth.

"Do you have lube or something around here?" John murmured as he pulled back, rubbing his hands soothingly over Sherlock's hips.  
"Top drawer of my nightstand," the dark haired teen babbled. He had to laugh at John's surprised expression. "I am a healthy teenager, John. With a very gorgeous boyfriend. I needed something to... Ease my fantasizing or I fear my bedclothes would have caught fire."  
Laughing, John reached into the drawer and snatched up the smooth tube, settling himself on Sherlock's thighs.

"I want to feel you, all of you. Next to me, around me, inside me. But as this is your first time, and I'm incredibly turned on, I think this will be the best way."  
Rocking up on his knees, snapping open the cap on the lube, John poured a generous amount on his fingers, winking at Sherlock. Then he reached behind himself, slipped one slick finger inside and began to prep himself quickly and efficiently.

When he felt Sherlock's hand against his, touching softly, exploring what John was doing with curious fingers, the blonde grinned wolfishly.  
"Don't worry," he panted. "I'll show you what to do later. You just lay back and enjoy for now."  
Slipping his fingers free, John poured more lube into his hand and slicked it along the silky hard length of Sherlock's cock. The pale teen moaned loudly as he watched John, thrusting into his fist.

Lifting himself up, John shuffled forward, gripping Sherlock's erection at the base as he lowered himself onto it. The burn as he was stretched open made him whimper, made his head fall back.  
"John?" Sherlock asked nervously, afraid he'd hurt his lover, hands fluttering on his thighs.  
"Just a second," the tattooed youth gasped. "You're so big. Just need to adjust."

He shifted his weight, easing further down on Sherlock, breathing deeply. His lover gasped and whimpered, the tightness that suddenly surrounded his most sensitive flesh sending white hot flashes of pleasure through his body. Once he was fully seated, John paused again, letting the burn fade. Then he opened his eyes, locking gazes with Sherlock. His pupils were blown so wide that nearly all the colour was gone. His face was bright red, sweaty, a few curls stuck to the dampness of his forehead.

"You're stunning," John breathed, slowly beginning to move his hips. He wanted to go slow, to make this sweet and memorable. But Sherlock suddenly found his courage. He gripped John's hips tightly, thrusting up hard. John cried out, startled and thrilled at the same time. He dove down, kissing Sherlock, biting at his full, kiss bruised lips, as he settled into a more comfortable position.

After that it was all a blur. The sound of skin against skin, of harsh gasps, pants and cries of pleasure filled the room. Sherlock's hand closed tight around John's heavy dick, pumping it hard as he continued to thrust into his tattooed lover. The heat, the passion between them grew and grew, twisting together, growing into a white hot blaze. 

Sherlock thought he was going to explode. His skin was too small to contain all the feelings inside, the lust, the fire in his blood. When John reared back, hips shifting in new, exciting ways, that was it. Sherlock thrust up hard, John's name falling from his lips in a hoarse cry. The sight, the sound and the feel of Sherlock letting go, squeezing his cock, coming inside John, was all it took to drive the blonde over the edge. He cried out wordlessly, back arching sharply as his orgasm tore through him.

Falling forward onto his hands, John dropped his head to rest on Sherlock's naked, sweat damp shoulder, breathing hard.  
"Are you alright?" he asked softly, lifting his eyes. Sherlock's cheeks were still flushed, eyes closed as he fought to catch his breath.  
"So much better than alright," he replied with a happy sigh, blinking his eyes open. "That was the most wonderful thing that has ever happened to me. Thank you."  
Smiling into those huge, luminous eyes, John bent to kiss him gently.  
"Anytime."


End file.
